


Fenris and that New Responsibility - A Hawkeling Tales Drabble

by sporksoma



Series: Hawkeling Tales [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: A Hawkeling Tale drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporksoma/pseuds/sporksoma
Summary: Fenris is afraid to go to sleep because he's afraid to miss out on Bethany needing something, and when she does need something, he doesn't know what to do.  But neither does Hawke; it's a good thing Anders is still in Grunding.A Hawkeling Tales drabble





	Fenris and that New Responsibility - A Hawkeling Tales Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't make sense unless you've read A Hawkeling Tale. 
> 
> It takes place the 12th of Wintermarch, or perhaps the early morning of the 13th of Wintermarch, right after Bethany has been born.

Hawke had bathed, as much as possible, and there were fresh sheets and blankets on the bed.  The blood and afterbirth had been cleaned up, and now Hawke lay sleeping in the clean bed, exhausted from childbirth and a long labor.

Fenris did not know what to do with himself.  He was used to being useful, to doing things around the house, but this was a completely different realm from normal.  He didn’t know the first thing about children, other than perhaps “do not let them die,” and now there was an infant in the house, so tiny, so frail.

 _So his_.

His daughter.  Bethany Leandra Hawke.  It was a good name, leagues better than anything he could have decided on.  Carver had been inordinately pleased with the name, nearly preening, and had fussed over his sister like an old retainer, fearing to let her get out of bed, fearing to hold Bethany, fearing in general.  Fenris knew what that felt like.

And now he sat, in silent vigil, in the lone chair in the room.  Bethany was sleeping in her little cradle, soundly enough, although every now and then she would shift, or make a sound, and Fenris would go on alert for whatever was wrong.  He needed sleep, too, if he were to be honest with himself, but he was afraid going to sleep would see him waking up and this all have been a dream.  Or, equally feared, he would miss something important.

Hawke roused slightly, blinking owlishly at him in the near darkness.  “Fenris?” she asked, voice thick and heavy with sleep.  “C’mon, go to bed already.”

“I cannot, Hawke.  I need to stay awake.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” she said, sitting up slightly and leaning on her elbow.  “Don’t you know new parents are supposed to sleep when the baby is sleeping?”

“But what if she wakes and needs us?” Fenris asked, hesitantly.

“Then I’ll wake up and get up with her.  Now come get into bed with me.  I’m cold.”  He looked between the cradle snugged up against Hawke’s side of the bed, and Hawke, and sighed, padding on silent feet towards his side of the bed.

“Are you certain it is okay for both of us to sleep?” he asked, not certain at all.  All this would be good for, he knew, would be transferring where he was sitting up awake: from the chair, to the bed.

“I’m certain, Fenris,” Hawke replied, in tired mock-severity.  She patted his side of the bed (and how quickly and easily they had moved into sides of the bed! How natural this all felt.  Did all couples do this?  Was this just them?  He had no point of reference, and no one to ask.  Perhaps he could ask Varric, when next they met) and lay down, seemingly enjoying being able to lie on her stomach again.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

Fenris crawled into the bed and got under the covers, shivering slightly.  The room was chilly, and that made him feel wary; what if Bethany caught a chill?  He sat back up, shook his head.  “I need to go build up the fire, Hawke.”

“It’s fine,” she protested.  “Maker, it’s warm enough as it is.  Everything is fine, Fenris.  Relax.  Lie down with me.  Even if you don’t sleep, you’ll appreciate the rest.”  Her voice sounded tired, like she was falling back asleep, and he suppressed a sigh and got back under the covers.  Reflexively, Hawke gravitated towards him, pressing her feet against his legs, nuzzling her nose against his shoulder.  Fenris stiffened for an instant, then forced himself to relax.  It was easier now than it had been, in those first early days of their courtship, when the slightest kisses threatened to overwhelm him and he had to rush away to catch his breath.  Getting used to being touched, getting used to touch as affection, it was maddening, and he cursed Danarius again for his treatment.  Normal people did not shy away from touches.  Hawke certainly didn’t.

He stretched out beside her, slipping an arm over her waist, and she smiled at him in the near dark before her breathing quickly evened out and became the deep, even breaths of sleep again.  Fenris lay there, watching her, touching her as much as he wanted to, as much as he dared. 

The door opened slowly and he lifted his head to see Orana peeking in, glancing towards them and then slowly closing the door back.  It was good, her knew, to have so many people in the house.  Even Carver could help take care of Bethy, if needed.  And if the abomination had to be there, at least he could spend his time changing nappies and helping to keep the house instead of mooning over Hawke, as had been his wont every other visit.  The mooning just got worse the more obvious it became that Hawke was with him, now, and it irritated Fenris to no end.

There was a slight movement in the little cradle again, and then a stirring and gentle sounds.  Bethany was awake.  Fenris felt the beginnings of panic rise in him.  Bethany was awake, and Hawke was asleep; what should he do?

Common sense told him to check on his child, and he took a deep, steadying breath before getting out of bed and making his way over to the little cradle.  Bethany blinked up at him, making dissatisfied sounds.  Awkwardly, nearly as awkwardly as he had ever done anything, Fenris reached down and scooped the child up, holding her to his chest.  A swell of protective pride came over him, then; this was his daughter, and he could see to her as well as anyone else could.  One tiny fist came loose of the blanket she was swaddled in, and he moved his hand to touch it.  How could someone be that small and still be a person? 

Carefully, slowly, Fenris walked to the abandoned chair and sat in it again, moving with his usual grace and precision and sprinkled liberally with an intense fear that he was going to drop her.  Bethany fussed slightly in his arms, her mouth opening and closing.  He touched one long finger to the mop of dark hair on her head; it was soft, softer than anything he could have imagined.  He trailed his finger down her nose, which was sort of buttony and squished.  All of Bethany looked squished, to be honest; how could something be so beautiful and perfect and yet so _unfinished_ at the same time?

The quiet fussing built up into something a little bit louder, and Fenris felt a moment of blind panic: he wasn’t doing what his daughter needed.  How did one know what they needed?  The baby was too small to tell him.  Was he just supposed to _know_?

“Hawke,” he called over to the bed, gently.  Hawke muttered something and turned over, and he felt the bolt of panic go through him again.  Bethany’s fussing grew slightly louder, and Hawke suddenly jolted up from the bed, eyes wide.

“Wassat?” she asked, looking around.

“Hawke, I do not know what to do about Bethany,” he said, softly.

“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked, getting out of the bed gingerly and stretching.

“I do not know,” he replied, hating that he had to make the admission.

“Oh, she’s probably just hungry,” Hawke replied, stretching again and rubbing her eyes.  “Bring her here and I’ll feed her.”  She got back into bed and propped herself up with pillows, started unlacing the top lace of her nightgown.  Fenris rose, slowly, carefully, and carried Bethany over to where Hawke was preparing on the bed.

“Come here, darling, time to eat,” Hawke said, and a little careful maneuvering, which Fenris politely looked away from, saw Bethany settled at Hawke’s breast.  He marveled at how Hawke just seemed to know how to do these things.  Perhaps it was a sort of magic women developed after childbirth.  Perhaps that was why men did not seem to get the same magic; it came along with the baby?  He sat back down and watched the two, trying to not stare at the sight but wanting to drink it in all the same.

After several moments, Hawke made an unhappy sound, and switched Bethany over to her other breast.  “She doesn’t seem to want to latch on,” Hawke said, shrugging uncomfortably and wiggling around to get a better position.  “This just feels so uncomfortable.”

“Would a pillow help?” Fenris asked her, rising from the chair immediately.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Hawke replied, and Fenris crossed around to his side of the bed, passed his pillow to Hawke, who wiggled around a little more and finally came to a good position, resting the baby on the pillow up against her breast.  “She’s still not wanting to latch,” she said, and Bethany was fussing more loudly now.  It was an unhappy sound by an unhappy baby, and Fenris found himself fretting, unable to help the situation.

Before long, Bethany had worked herself up to a full crying wail, and Fenris was up and pacing the floor while Hawke tried switching breasts again, tears in her eyes.  “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she said, and Fenris cursed quietly.

“Is she not well?  Do I need to get the abom—Anders?” he asked.

“Please do,” Hawke replied, and, at last, tasked with something he _could_ accomplish, Fenris rushed out of the room and up the stairs, where the mage was sleeping soundly on the cot and Carver was sleeping equally soundly on the bed.  Fenris grabbed Anders’s shoulder and shook it.

“Mage,” he hissed, trying to not wake Carver up.  “Something is wrong with Bethany.  Wake up.  _Wake up_ ,” he demanded.

“What?  What’s wrong with her?” Anders asked, sleepily, sitting up and pushing Fenris away.

“She is crying,” Fenris replied, somewhat helplessly and hating that he could sound no other way.

“Babies do that, Fenris,” Anders said, covering his mouth as he yawned widely.

“ _Venhedis,_ mage, Hawke cannot stop her from crying and she will not… Hawke said she will not ‘latch.’  And she asked me to get you,” he added, the last reluctantly.

Carver woke up and told the two of them to keep it down, and Anders shook his head and stood up.  “It’s probably nothing, but I’ll come along, anyway,” he said, sounding more exhausted than he had to be. Anders pulled on his houserobe and thudded too loudly down the stairs, grumbling about the early hour.  Fenris followed, and before they even reached the bottom of the stairs he could hear Bethany’s cries of distress.  He felt himself go on high alert and wished he had an enemy there to face, something he could sink his sword into; it was easier than dealing with this new unknown of “baby” and “baby needs.”

Anders was in there before him and soon he and Hawke were in a discussion about possible problems.  Fenris found himself left on the periphery, part of something he could not be involved in, but at least he had been able to fetch the mage, when needed; he wasn’t completely useless in this new world, after all. 

Before too long, Anders had Bethany laid out on the bed and unwrapped from the swaddling blanket.  He was examining her carefully, after summoning a magelight to hover above the bed, and then he laughed softly and patted Hawke on the shoulder.  Fenris bristled at the familiar contact, especially considering that Hawke had not laced her nightgown back up and her breasts were bare, but when he paid attention to what Anders was saying, his irritation lessened.

“—And always check the nappie first,” he said, chuckling.  “She’ll probably need to be changed right after eating, anyway, but she probably won’t want to latch if she’s wet.”

“I feel like such an idiot,” Hawke replied, covering her face with her hands.  “The mighty Champion of Kirkwall, bested by a newborn babe.”

“You’re a new mother, like any new mother,” Anders said, shaking his head.  “You’re doing fine, Hawke.  Just remember to check the nappie first.”

“Will do, Serah Healer,” Hawke said.  Turning to Fenris, she said, “Could you please fetch a clean, damp cloth and a clean nappie?  She just needs changing.”

“Of course,” Fenris said, glad to be of use again, even if it was just fetching something.  Within moments, the baby was changed and the crying had stopped.  She had latched onto Hawke’s breast properly and it was quiet in Hawke’s room, Anders having retired to bed shortly after the nappie was changed.

“I’m going to be a terrible mother,” Hawke said, shaking her head.

“You are a wonderful mother.  Why would you say such a thing?” Fenris asked, and Hawke just gave as shuddering sort of a sigh and shook her head again.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed, not looking at him.

“I don’t think any new parent knows what they’re doing,” he replied, and she huffed a laugh.

“I hope I get better at this,” she said, after a few long moments of silence, except for faint suckling sounds made by Bethany.  “My first night as a new mother and I have to go to the Healer because of a wet nappie.”

“You’re doing fine, Hawke,” he said, and settled on the bed next to her.  “You have a lot more ability than you’re giving yourself credit for.  And besides,” he added, dryly, “I did not know what to do, either.  _I_ am the one who went to fetch the mage, if you remember correctly.”

“Maker, we’re a mess,” Hawke said, laughing softly.  Fenris leaned over and kissed her on her cheek, and Hawke turned her head so that their lips brushed together.  Fenris drew back, shyly, and Hawke offered him a smile.  “Thank you, Fenris.”

“For what am I being thanked?” he asked.

“For being here.  For helping out.  I don’t think I can do this without you.”

“You have me, Hawke.  I am yours.”


End file.
